


An Evolution

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 00:51:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4459028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Moriarty's video provides him with a second chance, he reflects on the evolution of his relationship with Molly that brought them from their first meeting to the point where they are now, the point where he can admit he needs her, he wants her, he loves her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Evolution

**Author's Note:**

> So a little while back a fanartist I admire on Tumblr, **rebka18** , drew a [really wonderful Sherlolly picture](http://rebka18.tumblr.com/post/124718771857/who-would-like-to-make-a-fic-out-of-this-drawing) and asked if anyone would write fic for it. I said I would, and while it took me a little while to get inspired, I am happy to say I finally finished the fic! The picture and fic are a little suggestive, hence the Teen rating, but it's not overly so. Anyway, I hope all of you enjoy!

He had not expected their relationship to go like this.

When he had first met her, she had been meek and unassuming, and he had laid his eyes on her and seen her as a tool in his arsenal. He would use her as he saw fit, treat roughly if needed, manipulate to suit his purposes. He didn’t plan on seeing her as a person. But his mind betrayed him. A perfect replica of her took residence in the halls of his mind palace. She became the one he spoke to for technical information, and grudgingly he had to respect the person his mental portal of information was based on. She was more than a tool at that point, but she wasn’t a friend.

Later, after John, he began to see bits of her as a person, filtered through John’s eyes. He learned pointless bits of personal knowledge about her: the name of her cat (Toby), her favorite television program (Glee), her home village (Bozeat), her birthday (October 1st, 1981), her favorite color (lemon yellow), her favorite song to sing aloud when she thought she was alone in the morgue (“Open Your Heart” by Madonna), her favorite type of cheesecake (currant swirl), her guilty pleasure band (Korn) and many other tiny bits of information. Every time he learned a new tidbit instead of tossing it aside he filed it away in her room in his mind palace. 

Yes, she had a room of her own, though he didn’t spend much time there. It was modeled after her sitting room, which he had let himself into one time because he had needed her to do stitches on him without alerting either Lestrade or his brother that he had been that gravely injured. It has cream colored walls hung with pieces of art that reflected old-fashioned tastes, showing the greats. The sofa and chairs were comfortable, there were bookcases all over, the books inside them well worn and well loved, and there were little mementos scattered about that reminded him of her: a cherry patterned scarf draped on a chair, pink rain boots by the door, a garish Christmas jumper on the sofa. He was afraid if he spent much time in the room he would want to spend time with her, and as he knew attachments could only lead to trouble that would do neither of them any good.

Slowly, though, things changed. When she stood up to him at the party, when he saw with his own two eyes that she cared, that she truly and honestly cared about _him_ , he started to inhabit that room. He started to listen to her when she spoke, observe her more closely. He started to pay attention. He started to care. He may not have said as much to her, but she began to matter to him. He stopped viewing her as a portal for information and became an almost friend, someone more than an acquaintance but not quite a friend, but close. Oh so tantalizingly close.

Moriarty changed that. Moriarty pushed her over the threshold, when he was cooped up at her home for three weeks as the minor injuries from his fall healed. She was there to listen to him rant and rave, to be close when he needed company, to hold him when he needed comfort. She offered reassurance and support. She did everything a friend would do and more, and she did it all willingly and unselfishly, without expecting anything in return. She simply wanted to make sure he was all right. He knew then, if he survived all of this, she would forever be a friend.

He entertained a stray thought or two of more than that, but not often, and not fully. It wasn’t until he returned and was confronted with the reality of the engagement and the all-too-wrong-for-her-fiancé and the fact that she had moved on from her adoration of him that he realized how badly he had hoped he’d have a chance. He told himself in his head she had taken the best she could get, and that while she deserved better he should be happy for her because she was happy, even if the more devious voice in his head suggested way after way of sabotaging their relationship in a way that would not lead back to him.

There was no need for that, though, because it imploded all on its own. He had seen cracks in the façade of happiness all the way back to the wedding, but when she slapped him and he realized she no longer wore the engagement ring he felt a spark of joy in his drug addled brain. She was free of the Meat Dagger. She was not going to be tied to the oaf for the rest of her life and have little oafs to take care of and eventually be miserable and hate the world. She could have better. If he could disentangle himself from his own problems, perhaps she could have _him_.

But oh, with the way his luck ran, that was not really an option. There was first being shot by his best friend’s wife, then being outwitted by a criminal genius, then taking matters in his own hands to spare those he loved a future controlled by a monster…he’d never had the option, he realized. If it hadn’t been one thing it would have been another. There was no way he could have a happy ending with Molly. Men like him did not get happy endings; their sins were too great.

It was only by a twist of fate and a well timed video that he got a second chance. He had said a very simple good-bye to Molly, preferring not to speak and just wanting to stay close. Nothing untoward had happened, but she had held him for hours as they slept, and it was with the utmost pain he had left her that morning. But with the video he could go back to her. He would be able to stay close, to make sure she was safe, because this threat extended to her. By now Moriarty had to know Molly was the reason he was alive. The one he had deemed unimportant had been the most important of all, and that made her just as large a target.

He wasn’t able to get to her while she was at the hospital, but Mycroft assured her his best woman was there keeping her safe, and would make sure she got home safely. He knew her neighbors were both MI-6, there were cameras on every building on her street and in almost every room of her home. Mycroft would be watching her most closely. When he was finally allowed to leave he went directly to her flat, a place that only that morning he had thought he would never see again. It was after midnight when he arrived, but the agent at the door let him in and Anthea left her then, for what Sherlock imagined was the first time since she set foot in St. Bart’s, and Molly rushed to him. He held her close, grateful that she was safe.

He still wasn’t sure why she had kissed him, but her lips had been on his and she might have intended it to be soft but it became incredibly passionate very quickly, as though a switch had been flipped and all these pent up emotions had been allowed to be released. And then it seemed as though there was too much in the way, too many layers of clothing. It became a scramble to see who could undress who first, who could touch warm skin first, who could press lips to soft flesh the fastest. They just barely made it to the bedroom and not even quite to the bed before they were stark naked and coming together, bringing each other closer and closer to their mutual release.

She fell asleep soon afterward, curled up against him, tangled in the sheet he’d pulled over them because the quilt had gotten in the way when they had gotten to the bed and it had been tossed to the side. He’d lain awake, holding her close, marveling at the change in their relationship, in what all of this meant, in the fact that she let him get so close, let him be that intimate with her and asked only that he be there when she woke up the next morning in return. And when he was done thinking he pulled her close and went to sleep.

The sun was shining in her bedroom when he felt her move, snuggling next to him, her arse managing to rub against a rather sensitive part of his anatomy. He woke up at that, tightening his hold on her and lifting himself up slightly to look up at him. He could see she had a smile on her face. “You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Maybe,” she said, opening her eyes. She had the sheet pulled up to her chest and her arms tucked under her head as a sort of pillow.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “I suppose now that we’re both awake we could talk,” he said. Then he pulled back slightly and pressed a kiss to her collarbone. “Or we could do more of what we did last night.” Then he pressed a kiss at her pulse point, nipping slightly. “The choice is yours, Molly.”

“I vote for more snogging and shagging and less talking,” she said with a seductive smile, rolling onto her back and then reaching for him. He changed his position so he was hovering over her. “You got a second chance so you should take advantage of it, I think.”

“I will,” he said, with a nod before leaning in. “As often as I can.”

“Good,” she said before pulling him in for a rather passionate kiss. He was glad for the change in their relationship, he decided. The evolution that they had gone through had given him the chance to build something special with her, and now that he could take advantage of it, now that he had this gift of a second chance given to him, he was going to make the absolute most of it.


End file.
